The Fall

Teleportation usually feels like stepping through a doorway. Lena’s teleportation felt like being flushed down a toilet.

They didn't land on their feet. They landed in a heap of garbage bags in an alleyway in the Lower East Side.

Lena groaned, pushing a banana peel off her shoulder. "Ow."

"Get off me," Silas growled, shoving Kian’s elbow out of his ribs.

"My suit," Kian whispered, staring at the grime on his bespoke Tom Ford jacket. "It’s... sticky."

Roman was the first to stand, though he stumbled. He looked around wildly. "Where are we? This isn't a safe house."

"It’s behind a Thai restaurant on 4th Street," Lena said, dusting off her jeans. "It was the only anchor point I could visualize in three seconds without splinching us. You're welcome, by the way."

"We need to go back," Silas said, eyes wild. "We need to kill them."

He tried to summon his wolf again. A spark of blue light popped at his fingertips, and he doubled over, retching.

"Stop!" Lena rushed to him, placing a hand on his back. "Your bond is fried. The adrenaline spike short-circuited your shifting ability. If you try to force magic right now, you’ll burn your brains out."

"We are defenseless," Roman noted, his voice terrifyingly cold. He was scanning the alley entrance, his tactical mind trying to work without his physical power. "The Rogues will track our scent. They have the Spire. They have our resources."

"Then we move," Lena said. "I have a bolt-hole. Underground."

"Underground?" Kian looked at a puddle of questionable liquid near his Italian loafer. "Like... the subway?"

"Worse," Lena said grimly. "The Iron Tunnels."

The journey to the subway entrance was a disaster. The Voronov Triplets, usually a synchronized machine of death, were now three large, uncoordinated men having panic attacks.

Without the bond regulating their emotions, they were leaking raw intent.

Silas almost got into a fistfight with a hot dog vendor because the man looked at him wrong. "He challenged me!" Silas barked, looking confused when his brothers didn't immediately back him up physically.

"He asked if you wanted mustard, you psycho," Lena hissed, dragging him away by his sleeve.

Kian, stripped of his supernatural charisma, tried to charm a subway attendant into letting them through the turnstile without a card. The attendant threatened to call the cops.

"I don't understand," Kian muttered, looking at his hands. "People usually just... do what I want."

"Welcome to being human," Lena said, swiping her own MetroCard four times. "It sucks. Get in."

They descended into the bowels of the city. Lena led them past the regular platforms, down a maintenance shaft, and into the darkness.

"Why are you helping us?" Roman asked quietly. He was walking beside her, his eyes constantly tracking the shadows. Even broken, he was dangerous. "We are not your pack. We are not your problem."

"Because the Jersey Rogues are sloppy," Lena said. "If they take over the city, they won't just tax the covens; they’ll hunt us. I like my life, Voronov. I like my apartment. I like my bodega cat. I’m not letting a bunch of frat-boy werewolves ruin New York."

Roman looked at her. For the first time, the calculation in his eyes softened into something like respect.

"Lead the way, Witch."